I'll Be Here, To Shelter You
by Maxwell Lily
Summary: He was thinking about her voice, about her singing, when she suddenly waved and ran away in the rain. Hae Soo, the schoolgirl, who had a loving family but was still as lost as he was in regards to the future. When he sketched, he caught himself thinking of her. He drew her looking at the rain, hand outstretched, choices and chances at the horizon. [Modern Setting/Age Difference AU]


_I can't deny it's gorgeous that a brain sees what its experience has trained it to see. If you've never known love it's clear you'd mistake it for something else. Loneliness perhaps. Greed. —_ _ **Lindsay Hunter**_

* * *

Life used to be a blur of reactions. The reaction of tears when his mother yelled at him. The reaction of her tears at his tears, her body never moving from its spot by the front door, waiting for a man that was never coming back. The reaction of punches, deflections and advances, the fights almost a dance behind the old school building. Eating when he felt hungry. Sleeping when he felt tired. He used to feel tired a lot. There were reactions in his dreams, too, running, always running, and falling and drowning. He won all of his fights in real life but in his dreams, he never won. He wanted to win, but he always seemed to forget he was dreaming, there was always the anticipation, the longing, the hope. But father never showed up in his dreams. Father never showed up again.

There had been a new man. There had been a new brother. His mom gave up screaming at him to focus on the new brother, to coddle him up, to hug him and sing at him. It was back then that he discovered that his hands, hands that always hit the target and had made many bleed, could hold something — someone — so gently. He only held his brother once before his mother forbade him, lest he contaminated the child, dropped him or killed him. He would never do that. Never wanted to. He wanted to be called brother, to be called anything, and to have someone wait for him when he came home. His mother kicked him out when he graduated. With his grades, he would never find a good job and would never provide the family with anything, he was one more mouth to feed, one more burden. His brother watched him go and he could hear him wailing for what seemed like miles. He never understood why he cried. A reaction. Everything had been reactions.

He didn't go to college, his mother was right about that. He worked many jobs, the hands that used to punch teeth now carried boxes, organized shelves, gave customers their change. He cooked for himself when he felt hungry. Slept when he felt tired. He felt livelier those days, wasn't tired from nothing at all but from the strain of work. Food had taste, especially when he accidentally used too much seasoning, when he accidentally burned his dinner. His hands had calluses on them. The days felt shorter.

The boy spent the years towards adulthood wanting more than reactions. He would avoid the dark alleys where gangs planned to take him in. He would avoid bumping into people on the street, twisting and turning and avoiding eye contact. _You're a rotten apple,_ his mother used to tell him, but he wasn't, he had never done anything to anyone. He knew people better than her, had spent nothing but years of looking at people, of knowing them, of understanding their violence and indifference. He didn't bring the worst in people, some people just lived in their worst, the absolute worst they could be, and he didn't want to get caught up in it. He just wanted not to fall in his dreams. Not to bleed. Not to die.

Sometimes he dreamed about his brother's tears when he left, and he woke up thinking about how he would look like as a grade school student. The tiny hand he had touched would fit better in his own hand. Mother would never say he was a rotten apple. If she did, she would be wrong. But she wouldn't.

As he worked in a convenience store, he met not only the worst, but also the better people. Elderly people who said he should get a haircut. Students who sat with a bowl of instant noodles and fell asleep on their books during his graveyard shifts. Girls who smiled and spoke softly. Children who carried nothing but change. Men who smiled at their partner's texts and forgot they were standing in line for a second or two or five. He saw them all, just like he saw the shadows out the corner of his eyes and the items pushed off the shelves and onto the floor, laughter ringing in his ears along with the broken glass of beers. The better. The worst. They walked in and out of his life and he watched them go. He watched them all go.

Jung would be ten soon. He sometimes scribbled what he thought Jung would look like in a small notepad he kept by the register. There were several other sketches along with Jung's, of the many people he had encountered. He held the pencil firmly and most of the time his sketches were filled with heavy strokes. The lead dirtied the back of his hand and sometimes the sleeve of his shirt. The birth of every character on the notepad was no reaction.

When he saw the ad for an art class, he wondered if it was too late. If he was too old. If it was even worth it. But it was something different, something new, and he wanted to get rid of the voice in the back of his mind that was sure his life would never amount to anything. Maybe it wouldn't. He enrolled anyway.

There were many girls, most of which quickly began to chatter amongst themselves. He tried to tune them out as he always did, tried to focus on his assignments. He liked shading, enjoyed sitting at different spots of the room and drawing from different perspectives. It was silent when everyone worked and for the first time he was somewhere he liked.

He noticed her as the weeks passed. He always seemed to find her, even when they were on opposite sides of the room. She would stick her tongue out sometimes as she worked, or she would bite her lower lip. When her long bangs fell closer to her eyes, she would shake her head or blow them away and once, just once, she tucked them behind her ear and accidentally smudged her cheek with charcoal. He was sitting across from her and he couldn't help but chuckle. Everyone heard him and he tried to disguise it, cleared his throat, and looked away on the same instant she looked at him. He worked and counted the seconds before he looked at her again and she looked puzzled, head titled to the side, black smudge still on her cheek. She always seemed to concentrate so hard on her drawing and she smiled big at the end of every class. He had never interacted with anyone in any class he had ever taken, had never had the opportunity or the subject or the context, but as he passed behind her and saw her drawing that day, he said,

"It looks good."

He walked away before she turned or replied. He knew kind words could brighten anyone's day, he had enjoyed the concern of strangers before, although rare, especially if rare, but he didn't think much of it until the next class, when she sat down just beside him and gave him a big grin.

"I'm Hae Soo. What's your name?"

He stared at her for a couple of seconds.

"...Wang So."

Her mouth formed an "oh" before she repeated it. Tilting her head to the side, she said, "It sounds like royalty."

She was wearing her school uniform that day, her hair tied back with a clip, her bangs cut neatly along the line of her eyebrows. Facing her smile, he didn't know how to react. He couldn't even thank her, so quickly she turned back to their instructor when he entered. On that day, he drew inanimate objects in class but at home, he drew the red of her tie and her hair framing her face. Another face for the notepad, another page turned, covered, forgotten.

He thought so.

The next time, Hae Soo said, "I can't wait until we get to life drawing classes." Her cheeks were rosy, in a perfect balance with her skin tone. In his mind, he browsed through his colored pencils for the perfect color to match, and the gloss on her lips. He discovered Hae Soo liked eyeliner and used a different color every day that she spoke to him. Sometimes she wore her uniform, sometimes she talked to the other girls. Sometimes she just sat and drew, and true to her word, she focused best during life drawing classes. He didn't get to glimpse her work again, but he hoped she was thriving. She was friendly and subdued and had a beautiful smile; he hoped she was doing well.

She let out a cheerful "Ah!" when she stopped by his convenience store. He had never seen her around before and he wondered if the store was even in her usual route. He gave her a small smile in return for her grin and he knew she was going to talk by the way she balanced herself between her heels and the balls of her feet.

"So, do you want to do art for a living?"

He looked up at her eyes, big, round and eager, and then looked down to tell her the price of her items.

"I don't know," he answered, slowly packing her purchase. After he handed it to her, he could have leaned back in his chair but he leaned forward, in her direction. "Do you?"

"I'm not sure, myself," she replied, letting out a laugh that felt less sincere than her usual actions. "But I wanted to do something with colors, you know? I figured I'd learn from the basics but..." She shrugged. "I guess we'll see."

"What about college?"

Everyone talked about college. He should have figured it was a subject that brought anxiety and restlessness but he, himself, had never fretted over it. He missed it entirely, sometimes. The different ways people reacted.

Hae Soo waved her hand dismissively and he could tell the second her eyes looked away, looked smaller and darker, and then back at him, her usual smile on her face, the subject forgotten entirely.

"Will you let me see your drawings?"

Instinctively, he gently pushed his notepad farther away from view. She never caught it, she just waited there, hands clasped together, no other person in the store but the two of them. It was already dark outside. Hae Soo should have been home.

"Now?"

The corners of her lips turned upwards.

"Do you have a sketchbook with you?"

"...No, do you?"

She shook her head.

"Can I see them in our next class?"

"If you show me yours."

Hae Soo tapped her lips in deep thought for a second or two before nodding.

"Deal."

She seemed awed when she saw them, especially the monochrome drawings. He didn't think he fared well with colors, not yet, but he liked his sketches, and so did Soo, from the looks of it. "It's so sharp," she commented, and he didn't know if it was a compliment or just an observation, so he just let her look. In return, he browsed through her sketchbook and found that she did much better with colors than him, her drawings never outlined with darker colors when she could help, the precise force applied on her wrist and movements, never exaggerated. Maybe he was being overly self-critical. Soo's monochrome sketches looked clumsy, shy, as if she wasn't sure it was being done right. Maybe that's why she smudged her face with charcoal. He chuckled at the memory. Hae Soo looked up at him expectantly and he could only think of saying,

"You can do something with colors."

Her black eyeliner turned the corners of her eyes upwards that day. Nothing too sharp — just like her drawings — but he could see the elegant line when she closed her eyes briefly and bowed to him in thanks. He drew it that night, the schoolgirl with a bow at the end of her braid and eyes of a cat.

One rainy day, when they both didn't bring an umbrella and had to wait before they could make a run for the bus stop, Hae Soo threw to the wind,

"Maybe I'll drop out of the art class."

He snapped his head in her direction, the sudden admission almost drowned out amidst the sound of the falling rain. Hae Soo brought her open palm forward, drenching it, drenching the sleeve of her school jacket, but unmoving. She wasn't wearing any make-up. Her eyes were small and downcast.

"Why?"

He kept his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, sealing their movement, sealing the impulse to reach out and bring her hand — her — away from the raindrops. While he waited for her answer, he felt a warmth he thought he had forgotten, a long, long time ago. Amongst his chaos, there had been Jung. Amongst the rain, there was Hae Soo.

"My cousin thinks I should focus on my studies."

"Your cousin?"

She took her hand out of the rain, shaking the drops away.

"She's my guardian."

He nodded. There was silence between them but he didn't like the look on her face. Was it a reaction, then? He spoke.

"And have you figured out what you want to do?"

Hae Soo looked at her hand, and then she answered.

"Do you think it's okay for me to not go to college?"

"I didn't."

When she looked up at him with wide eyes, it was much more familiar than the downcast look. He couldn't help giving her a lopsided smile.

"Really?"

"Yes."

She gave him she same awed interjection she directed at his name. It made him feel strangely proud of himself. He wondered if she did it on purpose.

"And you live by yourself? Fend for yourself?"

"Ever since I graduated."

"You're impressive, Wang So."

He shook his head. His eyes looked at the rain but he saw the door shutting in his face.

"I didn't have much of a choice, back then." He looked back at her. "Your cousin seems to care for you. You should consider carefully."

Her smile and awe faded away like she had been scolded. He thought the conversation had ended for the day, maybe forever, if she did leave, but she spoke again.

"I really wanted to sing."

He blinked.

"Sing?"

"My cousin never even considered it. She said it was dangerous, to live like that."

He was thinking about her voice, about her singing, when she suddenly waved and ran away in the rain. Hae Soo, the schoolgirl, who had a loving family but was still as lost as he was in regards to the future. When he sketched, he caught himself thinking of her, of her hands flipping through his sketchbook, of his drawings coloring the tip of her fingers black. He drew her looking at the rain, hand outstretched, choices and chances at the horizon.

She did drop out, but he still saw her. She'd stop by with friends, chatting and giggling and they didn't talk. She'd stop by herself and tell him how much she missed drawing, how she would study and study and still her grades were average and then ask what his favorite subjects in school were. He told her that sometimes he slept through class like some kind of misunderstood, dormant artist and she rolled her eyes, not knowing it was because his mother was up all night thrashing the house. She'd buy instant noodles and sit down to study, just like every other student he had seen, but he kept an eye out so no one would disturb her, the schoolgirl studying after dark. Sometimes she would stick out her tongue out, deep in thought. He still laughed to himself.

"Do you have siblings?" She asked when he gave her a protein bar after she started stretching, tired from all the reading and writing.

"Me?" There was no other person she could have asked. She raised one eyebrow to show she thought so. "I have a younger brother."

"How old is he?"

"He's ten."

She beamed at him.

"You must be a doting brother."

He blinked.

"What makes you think that?"

She twirled her finger in his general direction.

"You're quiet and all but you look after people in your own way, instead of just brooding in your leather jacket."

"Thank you for validating my personality, Miss Hae." He smiled despite himself. "Is that what you were expecting?"

She shrugged.

"I don't really know what I was expecting." She laughed and scratched her head before bowing back into her exercises. He leaned against one of the shelves and watched her for a few minutes.

"You should go home, Hae Soo, it's getting late."

Soo looked at her wristwatch and let out a little shriek. She picked up her phone and whispered something before typing out a message.

"My cousin is going to kill me." She started collecting her things. "Do you think she'll believe me if I tell her I was studying?"

"Do you ever lie to her?"

She looked offended. "No!"

"Then she should. Don't freak out, just be careful on your way back."

She held her notebook to her chest and pointed at him, grinning.

"Aha! See?"

Wang So rolled his eyes.

"Get out of my store, Hae Soo."

"As far as _I_ know, you don't _own it—_ I'm going, please don't threaten me with physical violence!" She let out a little fake scream before storming out the door and he put the bag of chips back in its place.

On the week before Hae Soo's exams, she came up to him and gave him a drawing. It wasn't her style — a sketch done in charcoal, monochrome, serious. You could see the man from the chest up, long hair half-covering the left eye, his mouth a line — not menacing, not smiling, just a line, waiting for something to happen, for someone to talk to him. Intricate designs adorning his robes, jewels adorning his hair. Royalty.

It was him.

"It's a thank you gift," she said. She wore peach lipstick that day. He thought he had a pencil to match the color.

"What are you thanking me for?"

Hae Soo tilted her head. "For the company, of course. And for encouraging me. And for being my friend."

"I didn't know people got thanked for being someone's friend," he said, and he meant it to be a joke but a fragment of genuine surprise slipped past his defenses.

"They should be. It's something worth celebrating." She clasped her hands together and looked between him and the drawing. "What do you think?"

He looked down at the drawing that was very similar to his style, but still had her own touch; the shading was softer than he would have made, the movement on the hair making it blend with the background, fading away, just like her figure, retreating into the falling rain.

"It looks like a character from a historical drama." He raised his eyebrows at her, his smile amused. "I thought you've been studying."

"Don't judge people's hobbies, Wang So, it's very impolite." She blew her bangs away from her eyes. "I wanted him to look like a prince."

"Why?"

She was not wearing her uniform that day. Soo color-coordinated her entire wardrobe, from her shoes to her nails, and it was pleasing to the eyes, soothing — _cute,_ he thought, when she shrugged and played with her sleeves.

"It fits."

He smiled at her.

"Thank you. It looks great."

"Really?" Soo looked down at her own drawing with wide eyes and grinned. "I—"

Her phone started ringing. Soo looked at the caller's ID and sighed.

"It's my cousin. I need to go. I'll see you after my exams!" She said, waving, and was already answering the call, her hand on the door handle, when he called out,

"Don't forget to get plenty of sleep! Good luck!"

She stopped and turned to him. He noted down the shape of her eyes when she smiled the widest.

"Aha! See?"

She didn't stop by the entire week. In class, no one was interested in communicating with words, just the pencil, just the brush, and he was used to it. He was supposed to be. But the silence felt heavy after an abundance of chatter, an abundance of her. He reminisced about her, and it was different from thinking about Jung, whom he still thought about, whom he still dreamed about. Jung was wishes and ideals and hopes and the far past. Soo was just yesterday, the condensed breath on the window on cold days, present, the present, he could perfectly envision her hairband and the many colors of her nails. _I really wanted to sing._ He wished her wishes could come true.

He was leaving his shift, one foot out the door, when she came back. He thought she really ought to stop walking around town after dark.

"Hey," he greeted. She waved, a subdued smile on her lips. She must have been tired.

"Are you going home?" She asked. After he nodded, she moved swiftly, almost hopped to his side. "I'll walk you."

He scoffed.

"You're walking _me_ home?" Soo nodded and he clicked his tongue. "This girl... I'll walk you to your neighborhood. You shouldn't make your cousin worry."

She didn't argue or complain, she just nodded and they started walking, So following her lead at street signs and corners. She was unusually quiet.

"How did it go?"

Soo clasped her hands behind her back, tilting her head to the side. She was wearing a red beret that day, no bangs to fall into her eyes.

"It went well. No outstanding grades, but enough."

He hummed and nodded, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. For a while they just walked, until they had to wait for the red sign to turn green and Soo spoke again.

"I'm going to become a make-up artist."

He looked at her; she looked at the street sign.

"It's what I've decided to do." She smiled and he thought it looked shy. "I think I want to help bring something to people. The colors they want to see. The person they want to be. Do you think it's silly?" She looked up at him and he had never seen her anxious before.

"I think it's a goal. It's better to have a goal than aimlessly move forward."

Before his eyes, he saw the woman sitting in front of the door. The days that turned into months. The wait.

 _Living is better._

He looked down at her and saw that she was smiling more than before and he smiled back, a weight lifted off their shoulders. He liked it, taking care of her weight. Taking care. He sparsely cooked for himself those days, and so many nights were spent awake, in tosses and turns, but taking care of others was easy. It was so easy.

The weight he carried was harder to come to terms with. There was the concept of it, a concept so widespread, so universal, so simple, the simplicity behind her smile, the admiration in his chest at every new discovery about her, and yet. And yet...

He saw the light had turned green and was ready to cross when Soo took hold of his arm and pulled him back to the sidewalk. A car sped past them, horn deafening, a sound only obscured by the beats of his own heart in his ears.

"That was close!" She frowned at him. "You should be careful! What if I hadn't been here? Are you okay?"

He brought a hand to his eyes, the arm not in Soo's grasp, the cars' lights still flashing before him.

"Yeah, I was just... Sorry. We should go."

Soo didn't let go of his arm, not while they crossed, not on the other side. She kept her arm around his and he didn't think of asking her not to.

"What about you?"

He looked down at her.

"Hmm?"

"What's your goal? Have you finished your portfolio yet?"

"Well..."

Soo sighed dramatically.

"No one's going to hire you if you don't try, you know?"

"Yes, Soo, I do actually know that."

"Don't use the condescending tone if you're at fault, Wang So."

"All right, I'm sorry, okay?"

She stopped when they reached the next crossroad, under the streetlight. She let go and turned to him and he knew the walk was over. He felt it had been short.

"You're tired, aren't you? You're dozing off and snappier than usual."

"I'm not snappy."

" _Argumentative_ , then, is that better?"

She brushed his bangs away and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. It felt cold. Her body, from that distance, from that proximity, felt warm.

"You don't seem sick... You should rest today, okay?" She took a step back and smiled. "I can walk from here, my house is just around the corner. Oh, and don't skip dinner!"

"Yes, mom."

She laughed.

"Funny, that's what I always tell my cousin and now I know how _she_ feels."

"She'll come around, Soo."

Soo blinked. So almost took a step in her direction.

"Your cousin. Don't worry too much. She seems to care about you, so she'll accept your decision if you put your heart into it."

Color-coordinating Soo and her beret matching her lip-gloss, smiling and waving and walking away. Walking home, he thought he should get her something on her graduation day, but not flowers. It couldn't be flowers. Or it could? It _could._

There was a light in her eyes when he gave her the flowers. Flowers the color of the sky, the color of the rain, hydrangeas; flowers of her favorite colors, the colors of the eye shadow she wore the most, the ribbon of her uniform. He chose every color carefully, hoping he could emulate a fragment of her love for colors. He learned a little bit that day, all by himself, just trying to please her. There is always learning when you think about someone. When you do something for them. There is always something more to know. Like her gesture, holding the paper to her chest, her bow, and how it almost hurt to smile too much.

"Don't slack off, now," he pointed, just to say it, just for the sake of normalcy, but she took it well, she shook her fists and declared she was going to do her best.

He knew he would see her less now that she had different classes to attend, new things to learn, and money to earn to make everything possible. And he only had so many hours, he had so many boxes to carry. There was a used book store that he helped with because the owner was a nice old lady with back problems, the place always smelling of tea and time, old, old time, and the convenience store and the graveyard shifts and the portfolio he perfected and gathered up the courage to present, to show off, his work. It was baring. It was hard. _No one's going to hire you if you don't try._ He wondered if she was doing well. If she would stop by.

She did.

Barging through the door, a force of nature, a force in her steps. It was always night. Only the artificial light shone on her braid, on her smile. She wandered around the store and he watched her, she watched him, her fingers browsing through the shelves he arranged meticulously, heels clicking against the floor he had cleaned earlier, as if he had been waiting for her, as if he had known. She came up to him with a couple of items and he was about to say something after she paid, the words were already on their way out when she asked,

"Can I try something?"

He blinked and agreed and she made her way behind the counter, taking something out of her purse — a pencil, held it in her hand, and she was standing in front of him and looking down at him with a wicked smile on her lips.

"Wait, what are you—"

"It'll only take a couple of minutes! Hold still."

"Soo, I'm working! You can't—"

"No one will come, now be quiet."

"Lots of people come here regularly, actually!"

"Close your eyes, Wang So."

He knew at the moment she said it that only physical force would make her back down and he wasn't keen on it, the thought of potentially harming her scared him, and so he did the only thing he could do: he stood still. He could feel her breath on his face as she worked on his eyes, and he only hoped that she hadn't been practicing theater make-up. However, Soo wasn't really a prankster, she liked beauty, she had a particular aesthetic, so he only hoped his boss didn't check the security feed, not in that moment. Perhaps, not ever.

Soo was right when she said it'd only take a few minutes. She asked him to open his eyes but she didn't back away, she didn't put the pencil away. She applied only a soft pressure and he felt like she was bringing life into him. He felt like her character, her creation. One that she knew well, knew his corners, his edges, his triggers. A character with a better past. An even better future. He wasn't. He was just himself, one breath away from her.

"I kept thinking about this during my make-up classes. Maybe I _do_ watch too many historical dramas." She giggled. "It's something so simple but outlining your eyes really brings them into focus..."

No one came in. It was just them, and her words trailing off. Her hands stopped moving and just lied there, against his face. The laughter that had been in her, disappeared. He usually saw this Soo when she worked, when she was drawing, but even then she had her quirks. She looked into his eyes and he wasn't sure if she was looking at the make-up anymore. His mind drew a blank in the silence.

"I've missed you."

His eyes widened at her bluntness, at her honesty. The clock didn't have the chance to click more than one second before she closed the distance between them. In his shock, he didn't close his eyes, he saw a blur of her eyelashes, her perfume surrounding and surrendering his senses when he inhaled. His instinct would have made him back away, as if her kiss was a punch, the violence he was used to, but she held his face and he couldn't escape. One. Two. Three. When she backed away, he could feel her lip-gloss sticky on his lips.

She waited. She definitely waited, her hands hanging in the air, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. But his eyes were still wide, his heart still beating fast, a hundred things going through his mind. He didn't speak, didn't stand, didn't move. The clock ticked. One. Two. Three. Hae Soo blew air through her nose and stepped away from him, backwards, not breaking eye contact, until she was on the other side of the counter and grabbing her shopping bag and running through the door, as swiftly as she had come in.

When the door fell back into place, he knew he had made a mistake.

Looking into his mirror at home, he saw that she made him look like some kind of music star. What had she been thinking in her classes?

 _I wanted him to look like a prince._

What did she see?

He thought about her on windy days. On rainy days. On days when the sun dried the rain on the asphalt. He thought about seeing her in that sunlight, when it was warmer, brighter, vivid. She was just starting what he had started so long ago, it was just the beginning, still no sleepless nights, still no sore muscles or waiting for potential employers to call back. If he were her age, if they had attended school together, she probably wouldn't get involved with him, not with the kid who fought, the kid who fought back, who talked back, who slept through classes, not him, not the...

 _You're a rotten apple._

His breath felt heavy in the darkness of his room. He dreamed of her. The only woman he had known. He fought the thought of her with thoughts of Soo and it was better and worse at the same time, the loneliness engulfing him, the longing, wanting to hold her in his arms. He missed her presence walking through the aisles, her hand waving at him through the glass door. Always by herself. It had been a while since he saw her with school friends. Where did they all go?

 _What do you know, Wang So?_

As the days passed, he thought about things he didn't know about her and that he wanted to know. What kind of people she knew. What kind of food she liked. What kind of voice she had when she sang. Above all, he wanted to see if she was improving her skills, if she was as content with her classes as she was before she started taking them. He wanted to see her happy. She was crying when she left.

She was crying when she came back.

It looked like she had been waiting outside until his shift ended; her cheeks were flushed and she ran her hands up and down her arms.

"Soo..."

"I'm sorry," she said, directed at him but looking at the sidewalk. "You can forget it all, I'll just— I want to be friends. I don't want to not see you."

He touched her arms, felt the cold fabric and saw the tears in her eyes before he pulled her into his embrace. He felt her tense up immediately.

"No!" She pushed him but he held her tightly, he had gone for so long without her, it was all he could think about. "Stop, I don't want your pity!" She kept struggling and crying and he let her go, there were so many things he was doing wrong, but he didn't step back. She wiped away her tears. "Don't, I just... Can we go back to how we were, or did I ruin everything?'

"Soo."

She sniffed and looked up at him.

"I've missed you."

Hae Soo crouched on the sidewalk, her hands covering her face, something akin to a whimper coming out of her. He heard her muttering under her breath but he couldn't make out what it was, and he refrained from laughing or chuckling, as much as he wanted to. Soo's honesty had always made him feel good, and he discovered that being honest had the same effect. It was unexpected, overwhelming, looking at the other person and knowing that what they were saying was true. He was always holding everything back so he never knew. _What do you know?_

"Come on, I'll walk you home."

Soo got up, her cheeks red, and she nodded and started walking. So would look at her but she kept looking forward. It took him a few minutes, some time between being absorbed in her presence and shyness and actually looking, to realize something was different about her. Her hair, long and wavy and usually pretty in a sideways braid, was short, brushing against the collar of her jacket.

"You got a haircut."

Soo flinched visibly.

"I did it on a whim. I'm still not used to styling it."

She touched the ends of her hair, a pout on her lips. He kept his hands inside his pockets so he wouldn't touch it himself.

"It looks good. It makes you look less like a highschooler."

"I graduated a while ago!"

"You still looked 16."

She pushed him and he laughed.

"So how's the make-up artist plan going?"

She perked up.

"I'm learning a lot of things! The models that stop by so we can practice are so pretty. Our instructor even praised me this week, I think she's going to recommend me for a job position. Something simple, but I'm still excited."

She hopped and waved her arms around and she poked him on the shoulder.

"What about you?"

"I finished my portfolio," he said, smiling and a little proud. "I'm still unsure on where to begin."

Soo tapped her chin.

"My cousin's husband is an academic and he's published papers... I can ask him if he knows anyone in the publishing scene that might need an illustrator."

"Ah, you don't need to do that, Soo."

She shrugged, her smile back to the way it was.

"But I want to. And he's really nice and a little bit like my father so I think he'll find something if I ask him."

"You're sly, Hae Soo. I'm actually a bit frightened."

"Don't give me that tone when I'm helping you."

He walked her to the crossroad where they usually parted, and he saw, under the streetlight, that her eyes were no longer red; they just turned small, pretty, with the smile on her lips.

"I'll talk to you soon."

"Or you can text me."

She let out an exaggerated gasp.

"You'll actually answer?"

"You speak as though I've never answered you."

"Two days later doesn't count, So."

"...One time I fell asleep."

She giggled.

"Really?"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed and Soo laughed. She was already several steps away from him when he shouted.

"Hey, Soo!"

He liked the way her new, short hair flipped around when she turned.

"You look beautiful."

Her mouth fell open and she ran away. Honesty, he thought, really did make him feel whole again.

He took up messaging her like he said he would. Sometimes he fell asleep and woke up the next morning to her messages, full of amusement, _"Did you fall asleep on me again?"_ , emojis and wishes of a good night full of sweet dreams. They relied on them once he quit his job at the convenience store and got a job as an illustrator. It didn't pay well and the deadlines were strict but he enjoyed it, liked helping bringing a story to life, something exciting, something he thought maybe Jung would like reading, adventures, heroes, princes. Soo insisted on seeing his on-going work and he refused, he had already planned to give her a copy of the book once it got out, the first person to see and the only opinion he wanted to hear. She would pout and sulk and he bought her ice cream to compensate. She let herself be bought and excitedly talked about her own job.

Soo always kept two steps between them. He took two steps forward whenever he could. Not boldly but carefully, words said in the early hours of the morning, _I want to see you tomorrow._ A gift, hairclips for the short hair she learned to style, details. Taking her hand when crossing the street. He could see the seriousness blossoming in her chest, in her expressions, in her eyes. It was time that passed, the months that added to her growth, and also the wound he inflicted. It was her self-defense, an attempt to protect her heart, even if she didn't leave him, she never left, and he was glad she didn't. She probably should have. It would have been better for her. But she stayed and he couldn't lie to himself forever. Honesty. Two steps forward.

She told him she would be by the beach on that cloudy day and she was. The canvas sitting before her as she drew the sea. He had never seen her paint before. The colors were her own, mixed, blended expertly, soft. Her sky was gray but her sea was the blue of life. He liked the speckles of paint of her fingers, and the beret sitting on her head would have looked pretentious on anyone but her. It was just her style. Pastels and dresses and the red of her lips. She paused and smiled when she saw him. He offered his hand to take her to the sand, to the water, to the sea breeze. They sat together, the only people around, listening to the sounds of the beach.

"Soo," he called, and she looked at him, smiling, unguarded. "What did you see in me?"

The smile faded.

"What?"

"What makes you want to be with me? Do I look lonely?" His words were brought softly, like shells with the waves. "You're my first friend. I was just wondering."

Soo held her knees to her chest but her usual nervous quirks weren't present; there was no biting of lips or fidgeting with her sleeves. She looked away from him, the wind blowing her hair, messing it up.

"I feel comfortable with you," she said. "It's like you... actually pay attention. All the time. To what I do. What I say. And it makes me want to share more." She laughed. There were no more steps between them. "I think that's why I talk too much."

"You don't."

He liked the white of her teeth and the pink of her cheeks.

"I felt... you understood." Her fingers buried into the sand between them. "I felt you were good to me because you understood."

"What?"

"That something was missing."

So leaned back on his hands, spotting the seagulls in the distance.

"I haven't seen my brother since he was three years old."

When Soo looked at him, it wasn't pity in her eyes as he had feared for as long as he had known her. She stretched her legs and bumped her feet together, leaning back on her hands, just like him.

"My parents are still alive. They're just somewhere I don't know. I haven't seen them in eight years."

A chuckle bubbled up in his chest and Soo smiled, falling on her back.

"Do you miss your brother?"

"Yes. Do you miss your parents?"

She shook her head.

"I love my cousin and her husband. I wouldn't want to leave them. You know she asks me to do her make-up now?"

So moved closer to her, blocking the light from her eyes.

"She does?"

"Mmhmm. Oh! What if your brother reads the book you're working on? I bet he'd be proud of you."

"He doesn't remember me, Soo."

"But he could recognize your name. I bet he will."

 _It's like you know and understand everything._

He placed one hand on each side of her head. Her eyes went wide and barely blinked. She looked beautiful in daylight, like he expected. She always looked beautiful.

 _I want to know, too. You said I do but it's not nearly enough._

Her lip-gloss was sweet. He could feel her hand on his shoulders but she didn't push him away. Tilting his head, adjusting the angle, she responded. Neither were in any rush, in any desperate need. There was the tentative brush of lips, the ways they could come together, the sand on his hands, in her hair. The comfortable breeze. Her eyes, fluttering open, looking between his, searching, apprehensive.

"Do you believe me?" His fingers caressed her temple.

"You're not going to... change your mind and leave me later, are you?"

"I don't plan to. But you might."

He loved her laughter up close.

"I don't want to."

He decided he liked her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Her fingers playing in his hair. And how she laughed, delighted, into the kiss. That she could be delighted with him was beyond his expectations, his dreams. She was at the beginning and he was in the middle, but they were both searching, searching for their place, and he was glad their paths crossed together, like some last-minute plan, an unexpected left turn. He didn't want to let go of that hand. He hoped to bring her happiness like she brought him peace.

 _You understand._

He wanted to hear her sing.

* * *

"So."

He looked up from his tablet, setting his glasses down, watching as a grin broke out in her beautiful features. She still wore her work uniform, and he believed she had run to his study by the movements in her chest, even if she hadn't barged in like she used to. Soo's hands and gestures were gentle now, like her heart.

"There's someone here to see you."

He walked to their porch, running a hand through his hair, hoping to set it into some kind of acceptable look. It probably wouldn't work well, he still looked tired, but he approached the person with a welcoming smile on his lips. The one Soo liked. The one that drew people to him.

The young man of fifteen turned to him. There was a nervousness in him, in the way he shifted the weight between one foot and the other. So's smile faltered, and he searched for Soo behind him, felt her fingers touch his, lace with his.

"Hello, can I help—"

"...Brother?"

So's heart skipped a beat.

"It's you, isn't it?" Jung had their mother's lips. His nose looked like So's. "When I read your name for the first time, years ago, I knew it was you."

So's tears started to fall down at the same time as Jung's.

"You've been... so close, all this time."

Soo let go of his hand and he walked towards his little brother. He hugged him, carefully, like the first time. Jung cried against his chest, still a child. So was willing to hear everything. The years, the joys, the thoughts on his older brother, however mean and hurtful they were. The loneliness. Their paths coming together, like a crossroad.

Later, when they talked, he could always feel Soo. Her presence. Her eyes on him. Her hand in his hand. Her ring touching his, sharing his happiness. The one who always seemed to know.

" _I felt you were good to me because you understood."_

" _What?"_

" _That something was missing."_

The one who felt complete with him.


End file.
